


Seize The Time

by kaci3PO



Category: Glee
Genre: Community: klainebigbang, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaci3PO/pseuds/kaci3PO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Hummel gave up his dream of becoming a star years ago and is currently working as a special effects make up artist on a workshop production of Star Trek: the Musical. Enter Blaine Anderson, who has just been cast as Will Riker, and who is desperate to hear Kurt sing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seize The Time

Kurt Hummel is going to kill half his team. There’s nothing left to be done for it because Quinn is half an hour behind on the beauty makeup she’s supposed to be applying to Rachel, Matt’s prosthetic is currently stuck to the mold because Tina forgot to put releaser in it before she poured in the silicone, Mercedes is still trying to restitch the costume Finn ripped when he tripped over his own shadow during dress rehearsal, and Santana is snapping at everyone who comes within three feet of her because she fucked up Mike’s hair with too much product and is trying to wash it all back out and start over with only minutes to go before the curtain goes up.

It shouldn’t be this hard to pull together a workshop production of Star Trek: The Musical. Honestly, the production was designed to keep the prosthetics as simple as possible, all things considered. There were no Cardassians or Borgs and only one Klingon. Data had even been out for a very long time until Kurt weaseled his way into a meeting with the guy who designed Elphaba’s make up for Wicked and took notes on creating such a full-body paint job so quickly and painlessly. Everything about the entire production had been designed to make his (well, everyone’s, but particularly Kurt’s) job easier.

So this should really not be happening right before a workshop production because if this doesn’t go well, they’re going to lose out on a metric fuckton of funding. And Kurt really, really wants to be able to say he worked on a Broadway show—even if it was from behind the scenes, and even if it was something as patently ridiculous as Star Trek: The Musical.

He inhales, forcing himself to find his center or whatever bullshit it is that Rachel’s always babbling about, and grabs a chisel before dropping to his knees to help Tina chip the positive of Matt’s face out of the mold. They’ll have to get Matt back in to do another cast of his face before they can make his forehead piece for the next show, and he will likely attempt a double-murder on them using only his glare, but Kurt would rather lose the face cast than lose the prosthetic.

They get the piece out ten minutes into the first act, and do a piss poor rush job of applying it just in time for Worf to make his entrance at the beginning of act two. It looks awful and the part of Kurt that is a perfectionist when it comes to appearance—both his own and his cast’s—is dying inside because he can spot the mistakes from where he stands in the wings, but at least nothing drastic happens, like the piece falling off mid-performance. Which is saying something, really, because Worf has a huge dance number in act three called the Bat’leth Boogie and Kurt is fully bracing himself for Matt’s wig or facial appliances to fall off while he’s getting his groove on, but thankfully, everything stays in its place.

The worst tragedy that goes down—at least, worst that Kurt has to be concerned with, since he is neither responsible for nor can do anything to help Finn’s horrific attempts at “dancing”—is that Rachel’s awful Troi hairdo starts to fall flat halfway through act three, but Kurt decides that if anyone asks, he will say it was intentional, as an homage to late eighties/early nineties hair fiascoes and thus a shout out to the die-hard fans. What he will not do is throw Santana under the bus for her mistake because Kurt realized on day two of this production that everyone outside of it was going to think it was a joke until they started performing and proved everyone wrong. The only option was to stick together, warts and all, even when they hated each other and there was drama, and present a united front. If that meant he’d have to share some of her blame for the hair, then fine. Kurt would take that one for the team and be sure to remind her of his preferred way of applying mousse before the next showing.

Schuester, their director, stops backstage after the final curtain, praising Rachel’s solo in ‘Betazoid Blues’, but he’s interrupted mid-rave by Figgins, their producer, who cuts him off to remind them all that this performance was about gaining funding and proving that the production was being taken seriously and done artistically, “not Finn Hudson tripping all over himself, Mike Chang’s pitch being off during the entire opening number, and Matt Rutherford’s Klingon forehead looking more like _The Original Series_ ’ Klingons than _The Next Generation_ ’s.”

All in all, it’s a fairly somber mood when Kurt packs up his kit and heads home to the tiny, cramped apartment he shares with Mercedes mostly out of necessity (a play that’s still in the workshop stage really doesn’t pay that well...or ever, really) but also out of having realized long ago that they worked better together than apart. It’s been written into his contract for the last two years that any time he is hired to do special effects make up and designs, Mercedes is hired as costume director. She knows exactly how to compliment his work without overshadowing it, and he knows how to trust her instincts, even when her insistence on short sleeves means he has to make arm prosthetics, too.

Neither of them say anything on their walk to the subway, but Kurt knows they are both thinking exactly the same thing: this production is doomed without funding and that performance simply wasn’t good enough to guarantee them any new sources. No funding, the production will shut down, and not only will they both be left looking for jobs— _again_ —but they will both actually miss the people they work with, no matter how much Kurt wanted to strangle half of them earlier today. They’ve become family in the last few months and the idea of losing this disparate group of misfits—who Kurt just _knows_ are capable of so much better than what happened today—from their lives is depressing just to think about.

They barely say goodnight once they reach the apartment and it takes Kurt hours to fall asleep that night, unable to stop thinking about what his team’s mistakes might cost them all.

***

Two things happen at once at the when Kurt arrives at the production meeting the next morning. Or, rather, two things are happening when he gets there, and it takes him about ten minutes of watching Schuester try to placate a pissed off Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson before he finally manages to catch enough of the conversation to piece it together.

“This is a _good thing_ , Rachel. Last night’s focus group suggested that the play would work better with a love story and it bumps you up to the female lead as one half of it.”

“You’re cutting one of my songs,” she snaps. “How am I supposed to wow the audience and get enough buzz to leverage an audition at a better show if _you cut out my solos_?”

“I’m with Rachel, Mr. Schue,” Finn puts in. “I don’t like the idea of some new guy showing up and taking the spotlight from the rest of us who’ve been here all along. And anyway, I don’t want to watch some other guy make out with my girlfriend.”

“It’s _acting_ , Finn,” Schuester sighs, put-upon, and turns his attention back to Rachel. “And Rachel, that’s...I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Say you’re not going to add in Will Riker,” she suggests. “We don’t need a Riker. Finn is fine as the male lead and he’s turned Wesley Crusher into a...fascinating character.”

“Actually, he’s kind of a douche,” Santana offers without looking up from her nails.

“Wesley is often misunderstood,” Rachel counters. “The people around him just couldn’t appreciate his talent—”

“I was talking about Hudson,” Santana replies idly, “but for the record, even the guy who played Crusher thinks he’s a douche. Although I can see why you’d over-identify...”

“Mr. Schuester!” Rachel pleads again, “We really don’t need—”

“We do, and we’re holding emergency auditions tomorrow at three. Artie’s working on revising the script and we should have a new draft by the end of the week.”

“But—”

“Rachel, if we want this show to make it out of workshop and into previews, we need more funding. To get more funding, we have to make the show better and more appealing to a mass audience. The focus group thinks that adding a love story between your character and Riker will do that. This is for the good of the production.”

She glares at him, then snaps, “One day, you’ll figure out how to work _with_ my talent instead of _against it_.” With that, she grabs Finn’s hand, turns on her heel, and storms out, leaving a shell-shocked Schuester in her wake.

“I want a new guy in here _just_ to piss her off now,” Santana says into the silence, and Kurt bites his lip to keep from laughing. After a moment, Schuester turns to the rest of the cast and crew and sighs.

“Okay, guys,” he says, “let’s talk about what went wrong last night.”

“Everything?” Quinn suggests dryly, but no one laughs.

“Last night was a hot damn mess,” Mercedes sighs, and takes her seat with the rest of the makeup, hair, and wardrobe team.

“It was like the Chaos Theory came out to prove once and for all that it was right.” Tina picks at the hem of her sleeve morosely and Mike puts his arm around her shoulders.

“Okay,” Schuester says, “then let’s talk about how we can fix that for our next performance.”

“We could all pay attention to _what the hell we’re doing_ , Santana says, shooting Tina a sharp look. “How hard is it to remember to put releaser in the mold before you pour the silicone?”

Tina recoils, but before she can come up with a retort, Quinn snaps, “Right, like you didn’t drown Mike’s hair in product.”

“If Sam hadn’t been distracting us all with his James Earl Jones impressions—which by the way, that’s not even the right _franchise_ —I would’ve been paying more attention.”

“I thought you guys loved my impressions,” Sam mumbles, and stares down at his hands sadly.

“I think they’re funny,” Mike offers sincerely. “Just...maybe not when I’m in hair and makeup.”

“Mr. Schue,” Kurt finally puts in, “if I may? The problem with this production isn’t Tina’s mistake or Sam’s impressions. It’s cohesion.”

“I had a cohesion once,” Brittany says quietly. “The doctor said it was just a chicken pox scar.”

Lauren glances over at her, shakes her head silently, and leans back in her chair.

“It means the way we work together as a team,” Kurt explains gently. “And that’s the thing. We don’t.”

“I bring the truth,” Santana says, shrugging. “Some people find that off-putting.”

“Be that as it may,” Kurt says, cutting her off before Lauren can call her a bitch and they can break out into _yet another_ fight; from what Kurt gathers, Puck used to go out with Santana and now he goes out with Lauren. Kurt thinks he must be made of pretty strong stuff to hold his own against either one of them and were Kurt still the kind of man who worshipped divas, he would be forced to add both of them to his list just on principle alone.

“This production will never work if we don’t start to respect each other’s talent. And not only that, we all have to accept that we need to lean on each other sometimes for support. If we’d been working together instead of each taking care of the one thing we were responsible for and only that, one of us would’ve caught the thing with the releaser. We weren’t, so we barely got it out in time, it looked terrible, and now Matt has to sit through another face cast so we can make a new positive.”

“Or Tina could just do her job and the rest of us wouldn’t have to babysit her.”

“It was a mistake,” Kurt insists. “And you made one last night, too.”

“I told you, that was because of Sam. Now get out of my grill before I go Brooklyn on your scrawny ass.”

“Guys, enough,” Schuester cuts in. “Kurt is right. You all need to work together if we’re going to pull this off. Now I want you all to talk about ways you could’ve helped each other out while I’m at the Riker auditions.”

“Pick someone super hot,” Santana says wistfully. “It’ll piss Finn off more.”

Schuester opens his mouth to reply, then seems to think better of it and leaves them all sitting there in silence.

“I’m really sorry again, guys,” Tina says finally, and everyone turns to look at her.

“Stop apologizing,” Kurt tells her after a moment. “There’s no need. It was a mistake. I’ve forgotten it before, too. Let’s just...let’s get Matt into the chair and re-cast his face while Schuester’s off holding auditions.”

“Not so fast, sweet cheeks,” Lauren interrupts. “I need to work with Matt on his fight choreography. He’s still not holding the bat’leth right during fight scenes.”

“Well, you can work on it with him after the cast dries, while we make the positive,” Kurt counters. “We need to get this started because it takes awhile to set.”

Lauren gets her glasses halfway off her face before Puck catches her eye. They stare at each other in silence for a moment, like some kind of epic screaming match is going on that none of the rest of them are privy to, then she pushes her glasses back up into place and says, “Okay. Fine. I’ll work with Sam. He’s still half a step behind everyone and it throws off the realism.”

“Excellent,” Kurt says. “Ladies and Matt, to the dressing room.”

He waits until he’s sure Santana and Quinn are following him, then turns on his heel and leads the way to the dressing room, hanging back just enough for Mercedes to catch up to him and take his arm. She smiles at him, a little proud and a whole lot worried, and he gives her a tiny shrug of his shoulders. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s hoping for, either.

***

A few hours later, Kurt has allowed his team drag him down to the Riker auditions while the positive of Matt’s face sets up. He’s not sure why, exactly, he agreed to come watch, since it’s not like he’ll be working with whoever gets the part all that closely—standard stage make up is Quinn’s territory more than his—but Tina and Mike decided to go, and then Mercedes joined in, and then the three of him gave him Those Faces, the ones where he can’t say no to them, and the next thing he knew, he was in the audience a few rows behind Schuester and Figgins, watching actor after actor read the same hastily-written scene against Mr. Schue’s increasingly ironic line reading as Troi.

“How are they all so bad?” Mike asks quietly. “I didn’t think this was possible.”

“It’s like a train wreck _extravaganza_ ,” Mercedes mutters to herself as the latest horrible actor breaks out into the singing part of his audition.

“Guys, I’m gonna go check on the face cast,” Kurt whispers.

He moves to stand up, but Tina catches him around the shoulder and pleads, “Come on. Stay. The cast is fine. Have a little fun.”

“This isn’t fun. This is just...embarrassing.”

“It’s not that bad,” Mike offers. “And some of them are pretty cute. Right?”

Kurt glances back at the stage just as the newest actor walks on, script in one hand and guitar in the other.

“Hi,” he says, and adjusts his guitar strap into place. “I’m Blaine Anderson. I’m here to audition for the role of Will Riker.”

Beside him, Kurt can feel Mike and Tina’s eyes still on him as he slowly drops back down into his seat. He swallows roughly, then admits, “Right.”

He can see them grin at each other out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t really care. Because yeah, this guy is pretty cute. Pretty _damn_ cute, actually.

Mercedes snickers beside him and Kurt gives a rather half-hearted, “Shut up,” before he forgets that he cares. Because suddenly the guy is singing, and his eyes are searching the audience for a focal point and they land on Kurt. And okay, the guy is singing right at Kurt and making truly ridiculous faces, Mike is reaching around Tina to nudge him good-naturedly in the ribs, and _holy shit_ , cute doesn’t cover it anymore.

“Smile,” Mercedes whispers in his ear.

It takes a moment, but Kurt finally manages to school his face into something akin to a smile, and the gorgeous boy on stage grins just that little bit wider in response. He hears Tina make an excited squeaking noise beside him, and Mercedes mutter an impressed-sounding, “ _Damn_ ,” but he can’t manage to look at either of them in admonition because he feels physically incapable of looking away.

At some point, though hell if Kurt knows when, the singing stops. Kurt is only alerted to this fact by Mike clapping enthusiastically on the other side of Tina, at which point Kurt joins in, possibly even louder than Mike, and the man on stage brushes it aside with a humble smile and wave of his hand.

“He’s good,” Mercedes murmurs while the man on stage sets the guitar down and retrieves his script.

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees without meaning to, because he loves these people, honestly, but giving them ammo is like asking for trouble.

He can feel Mercedes’ stare on him without even glancing at her, but he refuses to acknowledge it. He’s having a moment, damn it, and her smug self-satisfaction about how long it’s been since he liked a boy can wait.

The man is a good actor, too, at least compared to the other train wrecks that have crossed the stage before him, even up against Schuester’s incredibly dry, stoic reading of Deanna Troi’s lines. Kurt’s more than a little impressed and already rooting for him to get the part—damn the fact that he looks nothing like Jonathan Frakes and flat-out admitted that he can’t play trombone.

Kurt is aware that he has more than the play’s best interests at heart, though.

“Go,” Mercedes whispers as the guy walks off stage, and suddenly he’s being pushed by all three of his friends until he’s forced up onto his feet.

“Go where?” he asks.

“Go meet him by the exit,” Tina clarifies. “Ask him out.”

“What? No, I can’t—”

“You can and you should,” Mike insists. “He was totally checking you out.”

“No, he—”

Mercedes rolls her eyes and pushes him a few steps towards the aisle. “Boy, you get your ass out there and ask him out. Anyone with eyes could see the way he was looking at you.”

“I’m sure he was just performing...” Kurt trails off, because it sounds as weak as it did in his head.

“That boy is fine,” Mercedes says, ticking off a finger like she’s counting down a list. “He was singing right at you. In fact, he was _acting_ right at you.”

“I’d say go offer to be the Troi to his Riker, but I don’t want to sound offensive,” Mike adds, and Kurt laughs at that because his friends are _ridiculous_.

“No, really guys—” he starts, but Mercedes nudges him again and it leaves him out in the middle of the aisle. “Fine,” he tells them. “I’m going to go check on the face cast like I planned to do anyway.”

“But—” Tina starts, and honestly, Kurt isn’t mad. He’s mostly amused, actually, and flattered that they care so much, but he is just the slightest bit annoyed that they can’t seem to take no for an answer.

So he leaves before that slightest bit can grow into anything more and makes his way back to hair and makeup. Which is how he finds himself alone in a room with the gorgeous boy who sang straight at him.

“Oh,” he says, just as the boy says, “Oh,” right back, and Kurt doesn’t know if he wants to ask the guy out or run away in embarrassment. He settles for leaning back against the door and asking, “What are you doing in here?”

“I got lost,” he answers. “I’ve never been here before.”

“I know,” Kurt answers before he can stop himself. “I saw you audition.”

The man smiles, just a little bashful, and answers, “Yeah. So...who do you play?”

“What? Oh, no. I’m not—I’m not in the cast. I’m the lead character designer.”

“Oh.” He sounds just a little disappointed.

“‘Oh?’ What’s that mean?” He takes a few steps away from the door, closer to the man, mostly because he can’t stop himself.

“You just seem like a performer, is all.”

“I used to be,” Kurt admits, and then, “Sorry. The exit is down the hall. Second door on the left.”

“Thanks.” He stands there for a moment, as though waiting for something else, then slips past Kurt out the door.

Before Kurt can stop himself, he calls out, “And good luck! You were the best one out there.”

The man pokes his head back in the door, beams at him, and says, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Kurt answers breathlessly. The man grins at him for a long moment, then ducks back out into the hallway. And then he’s gone.

***

“Honestly, it’s like you can’t stand yourself,” Mercedes mutters as they walk into work the next day. “You clearly just don’t want to be happy.”

“That’s not fair,” Kurt sighs. “You don’t just ask out some guy you don’t know because he smiled at you.”

She considers that for a moment as they set their things down at their stations, then shrugs. “Maybe. You think Rachel’s quit yet?”

Kurt tries not to snort. “No,” he answers, when he realizes that Mercedes isn’t joking. “She needs us.”

Mercedes scoffs. “As much as we need her?”

“If not more.”

“How do you know so much about her?” Tina asks. “I’ve never seen you say more than two words to Rachel.”

“Because she’s a diva,” Kurt answers and starts removing the cast of Matt’s face from its mold. “And because I used to be one.”

“Used to?” Mercedes jokes, but one glance at Tina tells him that she’s got more questions than he wants to give the answers to, so he asks her to start sculpting Worf’s Klingon forehead onto Matt’s facial cast, hoping she'll back off as a professional courtesy. She does, so he turns his attention to Quinn and Santana’s latest argument, and that is how he misses the fact that the hair and makeup team is no longer alone until he feels a tap on his shoulder and he spins around to find himself face to face with the guy from yesterday.

“Excuse me,” the guy says brightly, “Hi. Can I ask you a question? I’m new here.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, but he can practically _feel_ Mercedes’ eyes on him and he’s not going to give her the satisfaction of seeing him get flustered.

“My name is Kurt,” he says as calmly as he can, and holds out his hand.

The man’s hand is warm and strong in his and his smile is just this side of too bright when he answers, “Blaine.”

“What are you doing here?”

Mr. Schue enters and answers before Blaine can. “Blaine is our new Riker.”

Beside him, Santana lets out a derisive snort. “You have got to be kidding me. He looks _nothing_ like Riker. This isn’t The Hobbit: the Musical, this is _Star Trek_.”

“Well, that’s why I brought him here first. Kurt, do you think you can work your magic?”

Kurt eyes Blaine idly and shrugs. “I’ll try, but...I can’t make any promises, Mr. Schue. This is—.”

“It’s kind of a big leap,” Blaine supplies for him.

“The eyebrows _alone_...” Santana mutters.

“I’m sure I can work something out,” Kurt says more confidently, and shoots Santana a scathing look. She returns it, with interest, and rolls her eyes at him.

“That’s the spirit, Kurt,” Schue says, and thumps him on the back before leaving the same way as he came.

“So...” Blaine says after a moment, “should I sit down?”

“What? Oh. Yes.” Kurt gestures vaguely to his makeup station and follows Blaine when he sits down at it. He can feel several of his co-worker’s eyes on him and he shoots Mercedes a glare (mostly because he knows she won’t try to stab him with the pointy end of a hairbrush unlike certain members of his hair team who shall remain nameless mostly because he is afraid of them) before he kneels before Blaine to scrutinize his features.

“This feels oddly clinical,” Blaine says after a moment.

“It is,” Kurt answers back idly.

“True.”

“I’d say I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable, but trust me, this is the least uncomfortable ten minutes you will ever spend in this chair.”

“Oh?”

“Beauty can be painful. Even more so when I’m trying to make you someone else’s version of beauty.”

“You really think you can make me look like Jonathan Frakes?”

“No, but I can make you passable. Finn hardly looks like Wesley Crusher, but we made that work.”

Blaine nods. “What exactly...are you looking at?”

“Your bone structure. I’m working up the nerve to focus on your eyebrows. That’s not something you just dive into.”

Blaine snorts. “You’re going to wax them, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’d say I’m sorry, but this kind of stuff is like crack to me.”

“It’s okay,” Blaine says, shrugging. “Would you judge me if I said this much attention was kind of flattering?”

“I would,” Kurt answers agreeably, “but I’d feel the same way if the situation were reversed, so...”

Blaine laughs softly and meets Kurt’s eyes. “I don’t know what you’re going to do with my hair. Riker’s hair wasn’t curly.”

“Straightener,” Kurt says thoughtfully. “You’ll need a beard, too, so we’ll have to do a facial hair piece.”

“I can grow one, you know.”

“Not in time for the next show. Don’t worry. Tina’s great at facial hair.”

“And what are you great at?”

Kurt very nearly answers, _Wouldn’t you like to know?_ but decides it is too unprofessional, even for a boy this cute.

“Making people who I want them to be. It’s kind of my job.”

Blaine nods. After a moment, when Kurt realizes that Blaine isn’t going to say anything else, he motions Tina over and asks her if she’ll help him start Blaine’s facial cast.

Watching Blaine’s face disappear beneath the cast seems stranger than it ever has with anyone else—Blaine watches him until he absolutely has to close his eyes, and even then it feels as though he’s still, somehow, staring into Kurt’s eyes.

***

“That was definitely more uncomfortable than when you were just staring at me,” Blaine says amicably when Kurt is finally finished with removing the plaster from his face. He scratches at his jawline idly and blinks up at Kurt in a way that is far too adorable for Kurt to handle at three thirty in the afternoon.

“I told you,” he says after a moment, and then hesitates, warm washcloth in his hand. Usually, he cleans the cast member’s faces off for them after putting them through that ordeal, but it somehow seems too forward to do that to Blaine. After a moment, he holds the cloth out for Blaine to take, and turns his back to him on the pretense of checking the inside of the mold.

“I liked the music you had on while I was in there,” Blaine says after a moment. “Did you pick it?”

“Yeah. Just one of my old playlists.”

“You have good taste,” Blaine murmurs.

“Thanks.”

He can feel Blaine’s eyes on him (not to mention half his team’s eyes on the pair of them, as well), so Kurt finally gives in and turns back to face him.

“Hi,” Blaine says, grinning brightly. “Apparently Jedi mind tricks really do work.”

“Wrong franchise,” Kurt echoes. Then, “So what’d you want me to turn around for?”

“I wanted to ask you if you like karaoke.”

“If I—what?”

“Karaoke,” Blaine repeats. “You have great taste in music and the other day, you said that you used to be a performer. I thought it might be fun to—”

“I don’t really sing in public anymore,” Kurt cuts him off. “It’s been awhile. My vocal chords are probably out of shape.”

“That’s the beauty of karaoke,” Blaine presses on, just as cheerfully. “Finely honed skill isn’t required. In fact, those who have it need not apply.”

“I don’t know,” Kurt says on an exhale. “Karaoke is—”

“Karaoke?” Mercedes asks from behind him, and Kurt loves her, but he needs her to stop talking right now. “Who’s talking about karaoke?”

“I am,” Blaine says, and then holds out his hand to her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Mercedes.” She smiles at him, bright and cheerful and just a little fierce, and shakes his hand. “Now what were you saying?”

“I was asking Kurt if he’d like to go to a karaoke bar and he was saying that he doesn’t sing in public anymore.”

“He doesn’t,” Mercedes agrees. “But that sounds like so much fun. We should all go.”

“Oh,” Blaine says, then more brightly, “yeah. I’d like that.”

“It’ll be a fun way for you to get to know all of us,” Mercedes adds, “since we’ve all known each other for months now and you’re new.”

“Yeah,” Blaine says, a little more sure this time, “that could be awesome.”

“No better way to get to know someone than to watch them get drunk and make an ass out of themselves on a stage,” Tina agrees as she passes by on her way to the supply cabinet.

“Awesome.” Mercedes beams at him. “Kurt, give him your number so he can text us the address. Tonight okay with you?” She addresses the question to Blaine without even looking over at Kurt. If she did, she might back down (although with Mercedes, who knows; sometimes she’s a fan of the “sink or swim” method of tough love) but she’s not paying attention so she doesn’t see the awkward, uncomfortable look he’s sending her.

When he realizes that Blaine is holding out his phone expectantly, Kurt takes it, types in his phone number, and adds it to Blaine’s address book. When he hands it back, Blaine glances down, presses a button, and then holds the phone up a few feet from Kurt’s face. The back of it flashes brightly and a soft _click_ noise cuts through the silence between them. Blaine holds the phone up again, this time with the screen facing Kurt, to show him the grainy photo he just took. He beams at Kurt, then presses another button, and explains, “Needed a photo to assign to the contact. Don’t give me that face, you look great. Well, no one looks great in a cell phone photo, but you look better than most people do.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, flushing, and only barely resists the urge to turn away again. “Thank you.”

Blaine glances back down at his phone and Mercedes uses the moment to nudge Kurt in the ribs and grin at him. Kurt shoots a warning look at her, and hurries off to talk eyebrow re-shaping with Quinn. It _is_ going to be quite a feat, after all.

***

Somehow, word travels through the cast and crew and by the time Kurt and Mercedes arrive at the address Blaine texted them, pretty much everyone is there. Tina and Mike are already on stage, in fact, and she’s positively _killing_ a Joan Jett number while Mike alternates between deeply impressive dance moves and deeply ridiculous air guitar.

“You made it!” Blaine says brightly, and grabs Kurt’s hand to tug him over to the cluster of tables the cast and crew have taken for themselves. Kurt waves at Sam and Brittany as he’s dragged into a seat next to Rachel, not even allowing himself to think about how willingly he’s letting himself be carried along in Blaine’s wake. He gives Finn an awkward smile as Blaine all but deposits him into the chair before taking the seat next to him, leaving Mercedes to take the seat on Blaine’s other side, next to Finn.

“You’re late,” Rachel says without any malice.

Yes, actually, he is, because he spent about two hours going through his closet trying to figure out what to wear. It would’ve helped if he’d known what kind of occasion this was, or if Mercedes would’ve stopped lounging on his bed and making teasing (but loving) jokes at his expense.

“I’m surprised you’re here at all,” Kurt answers back.

“Truthfully, I hadn’t planned on getting to know this new intruder to our happy family—”

Kurt blinks at just how much menace she manages to put into such a seemingly innocuous term as “happy family,” but then again, this is Rachel Berry and he probably shouldn’t be surprised.

“—but I have made it a rule to never pass up a chance to sing. You never know who might be in the audience. Plenty of performers were discovered while performing in dive bars. I would hate to miss out on my chance to move on to bigger and better things because I let someone else’s intrusion get to me.”

“This isn’t a dive,” Kurt says, and wonders why Blaine chose this table to sit at when it’s obviously the most hostile. He knows for a fact that Sam and Brittany’s table would be a lot more welcoming, although admittedly a little stranger.

Rachel scoffs and Finn gives him a sad little shrug that makes Kurt roll his eyes and turn his attention away from the both of them.

“So what are you going to sing?” Blaine asks as Tina belts out the final note of her song. “It’s eighties night.”

“I’m not singing,” Kurt says in the most nonchalant voice he has. “Especially not on eighties night.”

“Oh, come on. The eighties weren’t that bad.”

“Have you seen the way they dressed back then? No. I have my dignity.”

Blaine snickers. “Oh, come on. I bet you could totally rock a power ballad if you wanted to.”

“I’ll leave that to the professionals,” Kurt mumbles.

“You’re no fun,” Blaine tells him. “Come on, I’ll show you how easy it is.”

Kurt shakes his head. “You want to get up there and make an ass out of yourself, go for it.”

Blaine shrugs and lets go of Kurt’s hand—Kurt’s a little shocked to realize he hadn’t yet—and stands.

“Anyone wanna join me?” Blaine asks the group. “I’m thinking it’s time we slow this down a little. ‘Every Rose Has Its Thorn,’ maybe?”

“Oh, dude, that’s my _jam_ ,” Sam exclaims, and Blaine beams at him.

“Come on, then,” he says, and slings an arm companionably around Sam’s shoulders as they make their way to the stage.

Mercedes scoots over into the chair Blaine vacated and leans in to whisper, “What’s wrong?”

Kurt shrugs and picks at his fingernail, trying not to look up at the stage where Blaine and Sam are huddled together and whispering to each other as the first strains of Poison fill the room.

“Nothing.”

“I thought you were interested in him.”

“I—” Kurt stops. “He’s a very attractive guy,” he says instead, and glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t look at me like that, Mercedes. You know I don’t sing anymore.”

“For a very stupid reason.”

“It’s not stupid. Wasting my time going on two hundred and thirty-two auditions was stupid.”

“Fine, no one will hire you,” Mercedes acquiesces. “This isn’t for a job, though. This is for fun. You know you sound amazing so get out there and belt out some—” She stops.

“Exactly.” Kurt shrugs. “My voice doesn’t exactly go with eighties hair metal, even if I were willing.”

“There’s always Madonna,” Mercedes says thoughtfully. Then, more excited, “Ooh! Or Prince. Kurt, you would do a _killer_ Prince.”

“Well...”

“Maybe ‘If I Was Your Girlfriend?’ Or...ooh, no, Kurt,” she giggles so hard he barely hears the name of her next suggestion, and when he realizes what it was, he wishes he hadn’t.

“Are you—Mercedes,” he hisses, “I am _not_ singing ‘Head’ to a guy I just met, who I don’t even know is gay, and _who I work with_.”

“He’s into you,” she says, dismissively, “though I will give you the last one. Maybe something less...”

“Pornographic?”

“Yeah. Maybe something less filthy the first time he hears you. You can save that one for when it’s a one-on-one performance.”

Kurt flushes and flicks his eyes back to the stage just in time for Blaine to meet them, grinning despite the melancholy of the song he’s singing. His voice blends with Sam’s beautifully and Kurt’s a little sad that they won’t have a song together in the show—the audience would be in for a treat if they did.

“He’s good,” he says quietly.

“He’s singing right to _you_ ,” Mercedes counters. “ _Again._ Seriously, Kurt, do you not see the way he is with you?”

“He’s being friendly.”

She sighs. “I give up. Be miserable.”

Kurt wants to bite back, “I intend to,” but he’s watching it on the bitchiness lately. He’s not doing a perfect job at it by _far_ , but he’s trying.

Kurt ignores her through the rest of the song, and avoids eye contact with Blaine. He’s tired of having this argument and he’s just as tired of the whole dating... _thing_. It doesn’t tend to end well for him.

“There,” Blaine says when he finally drops back down into the seat next to Kurt. “See? Easy. Your turn.”

“Actually,” Rachel huffs, “it’s mine and Finn’s turn. Watch and learn.”

She tugs a confused-looking Finn up out of his chair and pulls him towards the stage.

“Well, she’s cheerful,” Blaine says dryly. “I can’t wait to practice the kissing scene.”

“She’s just...scared of failure,” Kurt says, shrugging. “You were good up there. Just now.”

“Thanks. So, picked your song yet?”

“I’m really not going up there,” Kurt sighs. “I just. I can’t.”

Blaine frowns. “Okay. I—” He ducks his head and chuckles under his breath at himself. “This is a disaster, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Kurt shrugs. “Everyone sounds great. It’s nice to see some of these guys get to share the spotlight for once. I didn’t even know Tina could sing.”

“She sounded amazing,” Blaine agrees. “But I meant—”

Kurt glances up and meets Blaine’s eyes, and Blaine stops.

“Hmm?” Kurt prompts after a moment of silence.

“Nothing,” Blaine says dazedly.

Kurt flushes and looks away.

“Mercedes,” he says as Finn and Rachel finish their number, “why don’t you go show them how it’s done?”

She looks torn between performing and eavesdropping on their conversation, but Kurt knows her well enough to know which one will eventually win out. After a moment, she scoffs and launches herself up out of her seat to take command of the stage.

“I hope you took notes,” Rachel says. “With Finn’s superior vocals, you’re going to have a lot to live up to if you hope to keep up with me.”

Kurt restrains himself from snorting, but only barely, and that’s the way it goes for the rest of the night: his friends get up on the stage and shine brighter than he’s ever seen them before, and he sits there torn between the warmth of Blaine on one side, and Rachel passive-aggressively insulting everyone who dares try to outshine her on the other.

Around midnight, people start saying their goodbyes, until finally Mercedes tiredly admits that she’d like to head home, too.

“Which direction are you headed in?” Blaine asks when Kurt stands to join her. His face is open and eager and it makes Kurt’s stomach swoop just a little.

“Oh, uh, that way,” Kurt says, and waves vaguely. It’s really not much of an answer.

“Cool,” Blaine says, and doesn’t even look to see which direction Kurt gestured at. “That’s on my way. I’ll walk with you.”

“Okay.”

And Kurt will give Mercedes one thing: she manages to keep several feet of distance between herself and them the entire way back to their building without looking like it’s on purpose at all. She’s _good_ when she needs to be.

“This is us,” Kurt says, and stops a few feet from the door. Mercedes hesitates, glances between the two of them, and then slips inside without a word.

“Thank you for coming out tonight,” Blaine says. “Even if it was...co-opted by the entire cast and crew, and you have the whole...issue with singing in public, I had a nice time.”

“Me, too,” Kurt answers agreeably. “Thanks for inviting us.”

Blaine hesitates, then takes Kurt’s hand in his. “Would you maybe want to do it again sometime? Not...not _this_ , but...something?”

Kurt raises an eyebrow and stares down at his hand. “I—uh. Sure?”

Blaine beams at him, and opens his other arm like he’s going to try to hug Kurt. Then he seems to think better of it and covers Kurt’s hand with his free one, so that Kurt’s hand is ensconced in both of his. He shakes it very firmly, and grins even wider, and then finally lets Kurt go and steps back.

“Good night, Kurt,” he says, and gives an awkward little wave.

“Good night,” Kurt returns, and turns to open the door of his building. Just before he steps inside, he sees Blaine take a few steps and then actually do a little jump into the air, one fist raised. He blinks, then shrugs, and heads for the stairway.

***

“Son of a bitch!” Blaine shouts two days later, one hand flying up to his face and the other gripped tight on the arm of his chair. “Jesus—fuck. Ow. Okay. Ow. I was not expecting—”

“I just ripped half your eyebrow out of its roots,” Kurt says, as calmly as he can manage. “Did you think it would feel like being licked by kittens?”

“No,” Blaine says petulantly, and rubs at his right eyebrow. “I just. _Christ._ ”

“If you had less hair to start with, it wouldn’t be this painful,” Kurt tells him, and bends down to Blaine’s eye level to carefully apply wax to the other side.

“This is torture,” Blaine tells him. “You’re a sadist. You should have like...whips and chains and black latex suits in here. This isn’t a hair and make up room, it’s a _dungeon_.”

“As good as I’d look in that outfit,” Kurt says, as airily as possible, “it’s really not my bag. That’s pain for the sake of pain. This is pain for the sake of _beauty_.”

“So I wasn’t beautiful before?”

Kurt blushes. “That’s...that’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Blaine answers softly. “So, uh...about the other night.”

“What about it?” Kurt carefully spreads the strip over the wax, smoothing it out firmly before leaning back to admire his handiwork.

“I—well, I mean...we haven’t made plans yet to do it again. So...I’d like to.”

“Okay. What kind of plans?”

“I don’t know...coffee?” Blaine suggests. “Or we could see a movie.”

“Coffee sounds nice. Exactly how many of our coworkers will be tagging along this time?”

“Oh, uh. None, I hope. Just—just me and you.”

“I—oh,” Kurt says, and pulls the strip off of Blaine’s eyebrow.

When the inevitable cursing and groaning have quieted down, Kurt turns Blaine’s chair to face the mirror and bends down until he can see his own face over Blaine’s shoulder.

“I’d like that,” he says quietly. “The—the coffee. Just the two of us.”

Blaine meets his eyes in the mirror and grins.

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

“Then I forgive you for torturing me,” Blaine says seriously. “And for enjoying it.”

“And I forgive you for forcing me to sit next to Rachel Berry all night and act as a buffer between the two of you.”

“I’m kind of afraid of her,” Blaine says without a hint of shame.

Kurt nods. “How do you feel about a haircut?”

“I don’t particularly want one,” Blaine admits, “but do your worst. I think I can trust you. And nice segue, by the way. The logic and reasoning behind it was astounding.”

“Shut up or I’ll give you a mohawk.”

“Puck would kill you for stealing his look,” Blaine mumbles, but leans back in the chair with his eyes closed in acquiescence.

Kurt sprays Blaine’s hair down with water, running his fingers through it to pull the thick curls into straight locks before carefully raising his scissors and snipping the hair down into Riker’s shorter cut.

Blaine sighs when he hears the soft _snick_ of the scissors, but arches up into Kurt’s hands the next time Kurt runs them over his scalp.

“So...are you ever going to tell me the story behind the not singing thing?”

“What, now?”

“I’m going to be here for awhile,” Blaine says evenly, “and it’s the least you can do after ripping hair off my face.”

“I thought you’d forgiven me for that.”

“I have, but I haven’t forgotten.”

Kurt sighs. “There’s not much to tell. I used to and now I don’t.”

“Why not?”

Kurt stops snipping away at Blaine’s hair and glances at him in the mirror, meeting his eyes briefly before he glances away and resumes the haircut.

“When I was in high school, I was kind of—I mean, I wasn’t popular at school or anything. Pretty much the opposite, actually. Thrown into lockers, called names—you know, the usual when you’re a gay guy who can’t pass and doesn’t particularly want to, anyway. But Columbus had a decent community theatre scene, or decent enough in Ohio, anyway, and I was kind of. You know, the star. It was the only place I ever felt...normal. I hate to use that word, but—”

“No, I know what you mean. I was like that in high school, too,” Blaine admits after a moment. “Performing is where I feel...comfortable in my own skin. That’s it, right? That’s what you meant?”

Kurt nods. “So, naturally of course, I assumed that the stuff that made me so good there would make me good here, too. Particularly my voice.”

“Oh?”

“Countertenor,” Kurt explains, and shrugs. “So I came here. Started auditioning. Assumed that, you know, I’d get rejected a lot, but eventually, someone would see the same stuff in me that the people in my community theatre group saw.”

“But they didn’t?”

Kurt shakes his head. “I kept getting rejected so finally I asked one of the casting directors if he had any tips. You know, stuff I could work on. He said—he said I was ‘too gay.’ Except he didn’t use that word. So I got kind of angry and pointed out that this was _Broadway_ and he kind of laughed at me and told me that my voice was too high for any parts written for _men_.”

“And you just...gave up after that?”

“No. I went on about ten more auditions. I kept asking the question. Some of them were nicer about it—one just said I was ‘too niche’ for the part but he’d keep me in mind if anything came up he thought I’d be good for. And then one day, I was sitting outside a theatre, waiting for Mercedes to meet me so we could head back home together, and it just...hit me. I’m not an everyman. I’m a type. A type that’s not used too often in theatre. And I could keep waiting for that one part to swing around, and audition for it against all the other guys who were also the type, and hope that they picked me out of the crowd, or I could just...move on with my life. Find a new way to feel that.” He cards his fingers through Blaine’s hair and shrugs. “I’m good at this. I enjoy it, actually. Makeovers always were like crack to me, and this is kind of...that on speed. And there wasn’t much point to trying to force something that wasn’t ever going to happen.”

“But you enjoyed it, though,” Blaine says earnestly. “You loved it?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Then why not sing for fun? At the karaoke bar? Or—or even just in the shower?”

“It just—I don’t know. It was too difficult, I guess. To let go. To stop dreaming. I needed to quit cold turkey.”

“Okay, but what about now?”

“Now, it’s just...sad. It just reminds me of what I’m missing. And in public? I know they’re all thinking what those casting directors were. That I sing like a girl, that I’m ‘too fa—’”

He stops and swallows. “I refused to let them win all through high school. I’m allowed to back down this time.”

Blaine sighs, sad, but nods. “Trust me, I—I know about backing down. I’m not—I don’t judge you for it. I’m guilty of it. I just—if it’s something you love...I’m not saying you should have to go through that. Just...it makes me want to fight _for_ you.”

Kurt stays quiet for a moment, the room silent save for his rhythmic snipping.

“I don’t know if that’s sweet or patronizing,” he says finally. “And since I don’t really know you that well, I’m not sure if I should be giving you the benefit of the doubt or not.”

“I promise I didn’t mean it that way,” Blaine answers. “I just meant...you wouldn’t have given up if the fight wasn’t awful. And I don’t want you to have to go back to that. But I want to hear you sing, so...”

“So you want to be the brave, gallant knight who swoops in to fight my battles for me?”

“No,” Blaine says, abashed, and then after a moment, “Okay, yes. A little. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Kurt promises, “but I just—I can’t sing anymore. In public, I know they’re all judging me and doing it alone...it just hurts too much.”

“Okay,” Blaine says evenly, then: “But for the record, if you ever want an audience who’ll think you’re pretty much perfect...I would _love_ to hear you sing.”

Kurt flushes. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” he mutters.

“You sure about that?” Blaine asks, and that’s pretty much the moment Kurt stops trying to convince himself that Blaine is straight, or that the invitation to karaoke and now coffee were anything except dates.

“I was...” Kurt says, letting it trail off at the end.

Blaine beams at him in the mirror, until Kurt nudges his shoulder and pushes the chair sideways, out of the mirror’s eye line.

“Go see Quinn. Let her do your make up. Schuester wants you stage-ready for dress rehearsal at two.”

“Smooth, Kurt Hummel. You’re very smooth.”

“Subtle, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt retorts. “You’re very _subtle_.”

Blaine chuckles, but pushes himself up out of the chair anyway. “That’s one thing I’ve never been called before in my life.”

“Me, either,” Kurt admits, and Blaine grins at him before Quinn rolls her eyes and grips him by the elbow, tugging him over to her station.

***

“I feel like we should pray,” Mercedes mutters, staring up at the stage from their vantage point halfway back through the orchestra.

“I doubt even Jesus could save this after that last workshop,” Tina groans.

“Don’t say that,” Quinn hisses. “Jesus can do anything. That’s the _point_ of Him.” She pauses, then adds, “But yeah, we’re going to need divine intervention here.”

“I am more than happy to threaten every single one of them if they don’t pull this off,” Santana offers idly. “Especially Berry. Okay, I’m mostly just looking for an excuse. Give it to me.”

“Guys, come on,” Kurt says without any real conviction. “Artie re-wrote a lot of the stuff that didn’t work. And now we have a Riker, so—”

Mercedes snickers.

“Hush,” Kurt warns.

“He talked about you, you know. During his wardrobe fitting. He could barely shut up. And he mentioned something about coffee?”

Kurt flushes, then murmurs, “We...may or may not have a date. But you are not getting any details, Mercedes. At least not until details actually exist.”

“Oh, _boo_ ,” she says, and pulls him into a hug, made awkward by the armrest between their seats.

She looks like she wants to say something else, but the lights go down then and they fall silent as the show begins.

It’s at least twice as good as the last disastrous attempt. “Make It So,” sounds better now that Blaine is there to round out the male voices and Rachel must’ve been working with Finn non-stop because his solo in “Bye, Bye Enterprise,” is almost entirely on-key and actually sort of heartbreaking.

Kurt tries to look away when he senses it’s time for Riker and Troi to kiss, except that it’s at the end of their duet, “Imzadi, Imza-dah,” and he doesn’t get to turn his head away fast enough. It’s not as awkward to watch as he was expecting though, or at least it isn’t until Mercedes nudges him in the ribs and points up at the stage to Blaine and then back to Kurt as if to say, _Boy, you are in for a treat._

Then it’s over and the entire cast is raising their voices in a reprise of “Make It So,” and Tina is sagging in her seat with relief.

“That was so much better, you guys.”

“It wasn’t horrible,” Santana agrees, which for her might as well be a five-star review.

“No one accidentally punched someone in the face,” Lauren concedes, and crosses her arms across her chest in a self-satisfied way.

The cast starts hopping down into the orchestra and suddenly Kurt’s being tugged forward as both cast and crew rush towards each other in a crush of celebration. He can hear Figgins shouting over the din that this isn’t the end, they still have a workshop performance on Saturday and investors will be there so they need to be _on their game_ , but Kurt doesn’t care because he’s caught up in one of Rachel’s rare, but utterly genuine and fierce, hugs.

“You were great,” he tells her, and she gives him a look that’s more or less unfathomable before she turns him loose to go running up the aisle towards Santana and Lauren, where she manages to get one arm around each of them before they twist out of her grip.

“Well?” Blaine says breathlessly, “How was it?”

“Very nice. Couldn’t see a trace of fear on your face in your scenes with Rachel.”

“Yes, well, I am a professional,” Blaine says with false seriousness. “So how’d I look?”

“Great. Really...very nice. Remind me to thank Mercedes for the cut of this uniform.”

“I meant did I look enough like Riker,” Blaine says, and nudges Kurts shoulder gently. “But thank you.”

Kurt opens his mouth to try to fix the awkward, but Finn chooses that moment to sling one arm around each of them.

“You were good, Blaine. Try to watch that kiss, though. That’s my girlfriend, all right?”

“I promise that you have nothing to worry about,” Blaine answers. The corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile before he smooths them back out.

If Finn gets it, he doesn’t show it, because all he does is nod, thump Blaine on the back just a little too heartily for a friendly gesture, and head over to Sam, where he engages in what Kurt can only describe as a ritualistic chest bump. There’s a whole procedure to it, with hands and gestures and forearms that leads up to the actual bump. It seems complicated and Kurt’s not sure how Finn manages to remember something that confusing but can’t remember his monologue in act two.

“So...I was thinking,” Blaine says, “that tonight would be good for coffee. What do you think?”

Kurt nods and the two of them slip unnoticed to hair and make up so that Blaine can change out of Riker’s uniform.

***

“So,” Kurt says. He curls his fingers around the warm mocha in his hand and settles back into his chair, watching as Blaine stirs a packet of sugar into his medium drip.

“So,” Blaine answers back. He grins, takes a sip of coffee, and then suddenly all of his focus is on Kurt.

“Are you ever going to tell me anything about yourself?” Kurt asks. “At all?”

Blaine chuckles self-deprecatingly and shrugs. “If you want. I’m just not my own favorite topic of conversation.”

“And what is?”

“Lately? You, apparently. Puck said—well, I’m not going to repeat what Puck said, but it wasn’t flattering for either of us. Or the entire gay community, come to that.”

“Yeah, it’s best to just ignore him. Or only speak to him when Lauren is around. She makes him more tolerable, somehow, despite not being a particularly stunning specimen of humanity herself.”

Blaine rests one hand on the lid of his coffee and reaches out with the other, covering Kurt’s hand with his. He watches Kurt for a moment, like he’s checking to be sure that it’s okay, and then he asks, “What did you want to know?”

“I don’t know. Anything. Where you grew up, what your family’s like...why the hell you decided to audition for Will Riker in a workshop production of Star Trek: The Musical. There are a lot of options here, Blaine, since I pretty much know nothing about you.”

“Sorry. In my head, we’d have had about eight meaningful conversations by now, but...between the clusterfuck that was karaoke and just...this show, it hasn’t...happened the way I thought it would.”

“So make this one count,” Kurt suggests, and Blaine smiles.

“All right. I auditioned because I needed the job. I got fired from my last job as a singing waiter.”

“How on earth did you get fired from that? Your voice is lovely.”

“I...I have this habit when I’m performing of hopping up on things. Tables, chairs, couches...once I hopped up on one of those turnstile things in the subway and nearly got arrested because they thought I was trying to get on without paying.”

“So you hopped up onto one of the guest’s tables?”

Blaine cringes his answer. “I stepped in their food. They asked to speak to my manager. It wasn’t pretty.”

Kurt tries very hard not to laugh at Blaine’s misfortune, but... _what_?

“Yeah,” Blaine says wryly. “I deserve that. Anyway. I needed a job because I couldn’t ask my parents for help, so—”

“Pride?” Kurt suggests. He knows that, as much as he loves his dad, _he_ wouldn’t ask him for money for all the Marc Jacob jackets in the world.

“No. They...” He shrugs. “I don’t know. We’re not really close.”

“Because...?”

“I don’t know. We never _really_ were to begin with, and then I came out and that seemed to make it worse because when my dad wasn’t trying to ‘fix’ me, he was yelling at my mom that it was her fault. He printed out like, these studies or something and I don’t _think_ the science was valid, but it doesn’t really matter because he blamed her and she resented me for causing problems, so...it just kind of got worse. And _that_ was before I even started dating.”

“It got _worse_?”

“Well...” Blaine bites his lip. “I was in my room with a guy. My boyfriend at the time. Mom and Dad were out and weren’t supposed to be home for a few hours so he and I—I mean, it wasn’t like we were having _sex_ or anything. Just kind of making out. He was on top of me and he had his hand under my shirt. I mean, there’s worse on primetime TV, you know? But anyway, they came home and Dad found us and I guess that’s when they realized that there wasn’t any fixing it and I went from ‘our son who says he’s gay’ in an objective sense to ‘our son who _is_ gay and is going to _do_ gay things, probably under our roof’ in a definite sense and it all just kind of went to hell. They didn’t kick me out or anything, but they were glad to see the back of me when I moved to New York. I think they’d have even paid for my apartment if I’d asked, just to be sure I would stay here.”

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand in his. “Sorry. I—I shouldn’t have asked you to talk about—”

“Hey, you told me about why you stopped singing.”

“That _so_ isn’t the same thing.”

“True,” Blaine says easily, and shrugs. “It’s no great loss, Kurt, I promise you. We weren’t close to begin with. Our family just...wasn’t like that.”

“I guess. Sorry. I’m just...trying to imagine what it would be like to be that way with my dad and I can’t.”

“I was like twelve or something before I even figured out that it wasn’t normal, so. Anyway. I am also a great cook.”

“You’re just trying to distract me.”

“I am, but you look like the kind of guy who can appreciate fine cooking.”

“A little.”

“Then let me cook for after we do that next showcase production. We can either celebrate our success or mourn the loss of our jobs, but either way, it’ll be a party.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous, Blaine Anderson.”

“What? That we’ll have a good time?”

“That we’ll be going on another date when we haven’t even finished this one yet.”

“Oh. That.” Blaine grins at him and suddenly he looks like an eager little boy, all bright eyes and unmasked admiration.

“The answer is yes, though,” Kurt adds as an after thought, and Blaine squeezes his hand tightly.

***

Whether or not to kiss Blaine good night never even manages to be a question in Kurt’s mind. It’s just sort of inevitable and when they break apart, Blaine trails his fingers over Kurt’s cheekbones like a promise.

“Goodnight,” he says, chest heaving like he’s just run a mile, and Kurt has to actually nudge him into his own apartment building before Blaine finally heads inside.

It’s not often that the pieces of Kurt Hummel’s life fall into place. He’s feeling pretty smug about it the rest of his walk home.

***

“Matt quit.”

Kurt stares at Mike’s terrified face, then over at Tina, who more or less confirms that he’s telling the truth.

“What?”

“He called me last night to tell me that he was quitting the show because he got offered a part in Hairspray and it was easier than putting on the Worf prosthesis every night.”

“I—but—we need a Worf,” Kurt says, though he’s not sure why because from the look of panic in both of their eyes, they know that, too.

“Figgins is freaking the hell out,” Tina sighs. “Schuester’s trying to get him to calm down now, but last I heard before they went into Schuester’s office was that Figgins wants to cancel the whole show.”

“He can’t do that,” Kurt protests, and then glances over at Mercedes and asks, “Can he do that?”

“He’s the _producer_ ,” she reminds him, and loops her arm in Tina’s for support.

Blaine jogs over to them, looking worried and breathless. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Kurt answers, and damn it, as much as he’s worried and upset about this, he can’t help the little smile that tugs at the corners of his lips.

“What do you think is going on in that office?”

“Death,” Tina says gloomily. “Destruction. Doom.”

“The end of our careers,” Mike suggests, just as accurately.

“We can do this without Matt, can’t we?” Blaine asks.

“There’s no time to have Artie re-write the entire script to remove Worf,” Kurt sighs. “We have—had—another workshop production in three days.”

“I didn’t say without Worf,” Blaine corrects him. “I said without _Matt_.”

“Blaine, you do realize that we don’t actually have the hologram technology from the show, right?” Mike asks, and shrinks back a little when Kurt gives him a _stop insulting my potential boyfriend, even though it’s actually a valid question_ look.

“We can get someone else to play that part,” Blaine says. “It’s an inconvenience, but—”

“Who?” Tina asks. “We don’t have time to put out a casting call, hold auditions, get the person to memorize the script, choreography, and songs, and do a whole new head piece for them.”

“So we don’t do a casting call,” Blaine says with a shrug. “We work with who we’ve got. Puck has definitely got the aggression to play a Klingon.”

“Worf was really never about raw aggression, though,” Mike starts, and Kurt can tell that they’re about to get into an argument about Trek canon, so he cuts them both off.

“Guys, let’s just not, okay?”

And they don’t, because Figgins and Schuester are emerging from the office and the entire cast and crew are rushing forward to meet them.

“It’s over,” Figgins says, and Schuester’s face falls despite the fact that he had to have known that already.

“But—” Rachel starts, but doesn’t seem to know where to go from there.

“We can get a new Worf,” Blaine repeats. “Matt wasn’t the only person ever who could play that part.”

“There isn’t enough time between now and the performance.”

“Let us be the judge of that,” Mike suggests. “Please, Mr. Figgins.”

“My mind is made up, now—”

“Just give us the few days until the performance,” Blaine begs. “That’s not too much to ask.”

“It is, considering how expensive this space is.”

“You’ve got it paid until the end of the month,” Schuester says plaintively.

“I was hoping for a _refund_ , William.”

“I don’t think they give those,” Tina says.

Figgins looks around at them, then shakes his head. “Fine. You have until the performance. This is _ridiculous_.”

He storms out looking like a tiny tyrant and when he’s gone, Schuester spends the first minute looking around at them, helplessly.

“All right,” he says finally, “anyone want to offer themselves up to play Worf?”

“I’ll do it,” Sam says, and Santana scoffs.

“Please. No one would believe you as a Klingon with a mouth like that. They’d be too afraid you were about to unhinge your jaw and swallow them whole.”

“You’re not a nice person. Do you know that?”

Puck pats him on the arm comfortingly and shoots Santana a look.

“What about me?” Finn asks after a moment. “I’m big and tall and I’ve got aggression.”

Schuester considers that for a moment, then gives a quick nod. “I can definitely see you as a Worf, Finn, but we need you for Wesley Crusher.”

“Someone else could play Wesley,” Rachel says. “It’s much more fitting that Finn play Worf, anyway, because Troi had a love triangle with him and Riker.” She wraps both of her arms around one of Finn’s and beams up at him proudly.

“Okay, but...that still brings us to being one actor short,” Schuester says. “Not to mention trying to teach Finn all of Worf’s lines.” He pauses, then, horror-struck, adds, “ _And the choreography._ ”

They all look around at each other helplessly until suddenly, Kurt feels a warm hand at the center of his back, pushing him forward.

“Kurt can be Wesley,” Blaine says, and Kurt’s entire body runs cold.

“What? No. No, I—”

“That’s actually...not a bad idea,” Schuester says, looking him up and down. “You’re thin and tall and look kind of young...I mean, you’re not a dead ringer for Wheaton, but neither was Finn.”

“Mr. Schuester, no. With all due respect, I don’t—”

“Can you sing?”

“I...”

“Yes,” Mercedes answers for him. “Very well, actually.”

Kurt shoots her a glare and then sends one at Blaine for good measure.

“Mr. Schuester, as much as I appreciate the vote of confidence, I really don’t—”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Schue says finally. “In fact, I’m kind of shocked I didn’t think of it before. It seems so _obvious_ now.”

“I can’t possibly learn all the lines and choreography in time for the show _and_ keep up with my hair and makeup duties. Especially not now that we have to re-do Worf’s headpiece, so—”

“I can do that,” Tina offers. “And I promise not to forget to put releaser in the mold this time.”

“Guys, stop—”

But they’re all talking now, and sizing him up, critiquing him in their minds. He can feel their judgement and honestly, most of it isn’t even bad. But it’s too much after what happened the last time he sang and he shrinks back away from it.

“Come on,” Tina says gently, right at his ear. “What was it you were telling us about team work? And respecting each other’s talent? This is a group effort, Kurt, and we all have to contribute in the way that we’re needed.”

“Not this,” he pleads, but then Blaine is pressed against his other side.

“It’s just one workshop performance,” Blaine wheedles. “After that, we’ll have time to hold an open casting call. We just need to get through this one workshop performance to get enough money to keep the show afloat."

"I _can't_."

"Why? Because of what someone else said?"

"Because I'm _tired_ of fighting."

"You don't have to fight this time, Kurt," Mercedes says from behind him, and with Mike in front of him, he's effectively surrounded.

"Guys—" he says helplessly, but they're all there, practically begging him, and he knows in his heart that if he doesn't say yes, they're all going to lose their jobs.

He makes the decision and forces himself to say, "Okay," out loud before he can change his mind, and then suddenly what feels like the entire cast and crew is pressing in on him in one giant group hug. He even distinctly hears Santana's voice in the mix, which is disturbing and terrifying all at once.

“It was never really that plausible that a guy Finn’s age could play a teenager, anyway," Schuester says above the din and Kurt laughs despite himself before he's finally released.

"Okay, someone get Kurt a copy of the script," Rachel says happily, and Mercedes curls her hand around his wrist.

"Wardrobe, boo," she says smugly. "Your turn."

"Hell," Kurt says to no one in particular, and lets himself be dragged into his hair and makeup room.

***

"Hey," Blaine says that night as Kurt is walking out of the theatre, shiny new script in hand.

Kurt very seriously considers ignoring him, but decides that's trite.

"Hello."

"Want to come to my place and practice? Riker was kind of a mentor to Wesley on the show, so—"

"Blaine," Kurt cuts in, "I am doing this because my crew needs me and I decided a long time ago when Schuester first got us all together that I was going to do whatever it took to make sure this production worked. I am _not_ doing this to make you happy and it sure as _hell_ isn't making me happy, do you understand? You just purposefully triggered a lot of painful stuff, so—"

"But now you can prove them wrong!" Blaine says cheerfully. He's practically _bouncing_ next to Kurt.

"It _really_ doesn't work like that," Kurt hisses.

Blaine suddenly seems to realize that Kurt is serious and his smile falters. "Oh. I—I thought that maybe…I mean…you didn't fight back then, so I thought maybe you could—"

"So you decided to toss me back into the ring without my permission," Kurt finishes for him.

"But—but you said you _loved_ performing."

"I did," Kurt snaps. "But not anymore, all right? What gave you the right to make that decision for me?"

"I—I'm sorry, Kurt. I just."

"You wanted to be the hero, just like I said, didn't you? The white knight who swoops in and gets me a part and now I'm supposed to be _grateful_ that you gave me my _dream_ except it's not my dream anymore, is it?"

"It's not your dream anymore because you let someone else take it away from you!" Blaine answers desperately, and Kurt actually has to take a step back away from him to keep himself in check.

"Let?" he asks quietly. " _Let_?"

"That's not what I meant."

"It's what you said, though."

"Kurt…please. I didn't—I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought—"

"You assumed," Kurt says, almost to himself. "But you don't really know me that well, do you, Blaine Anderson?"

"No. But I really, really want to."

Kurt sighs. "Look, I—maybe we should back off this, okay? Maybe—maybe we should do your eight meaningful conversations before we try to—"

Blaine grimaces. "If—if that's what you want. But…it's not what I want, Kurt. I still want to cook for you. I still want to run lines with you. And—"

"Maybe after this stupid performance is over." Kurt shrugs. "I just…I can't right now. This is—awful."

Blaine looks like he's desperate to change Kurt's mind, but he nods, acquiescing.

"Okay," he says quietly. "I'll…see you at rehearsal, then."

Kurt nods and turns away, taking off at a jog up the street.

***

The next day is a whirlwind of being shoved into his own makeup chair white Quinn smooths out the lines on his face and Santana styles his hair in a way that makes him nearly want to gag. He really _does_ gag when Mercedes manhandles him into a sweater so horrible that Kurt actually sends a Tweet to @wilw that simply says, “I hate whoever dressed you on Trek.” Perhaps not entirely surprisingly, he receives a reply several hours later that states, “It’s been well-documented that I hated them, too.” But by then, Kurt’s already being put through his paces by Brittany as he tries to pick up the choreography. Thankfully, that had at least been kept simple in deference to Finn’s ability or lack thereof. He sends Mike a sympathetic glance because the poor guy has been tasked with teaching Finn the Bat’leth Boogie. In Matt’s hands, it had looked masterful. In Finn’s, it just looks awkward.

(Three hours into this endeavor, Schuester decides that they’re going to go with Finn’s awkwardness as an artistic decision, since yes, it probably _would_ be rather awkward if Klingons ever tried to boogie. Kurt thinks that was probably a good decision, not necessarily for the play, but for all their sakes—Mike’s in particular.)

Then there’s running lines with Rachel until he’s got the emotions of the scene down, if not the actual lines yet, and then he’s being shoved into a scene with Blaine and forced to spout lines about how he looks up to him like a mentor and it’s all so very much _not_ what he needs right now. He would almost rather jump into the song rehearsals, but he can’t yet because they’re tweaking his solo to fit his key rather than Finn’s. There’s nothing to be done about his part in the group numbers, apparently, so he’ll just have to make that work, but Kurt is pretty sure at this point that using his lower register during a group number is the least of his worries.

“How you feeling, boo?” Mercedes asks, and Kurt rubs at his temples before shrugging. He’s sitting on the edge of the stage, trying to ignore Finn’s actually quite good portrayal of Worf in the scene where he commands the ship in the captain and first officer’s absence.

“It’s not as bad as I was expecting,” Kurt admits, “but I haven’t had to actually sing yet, so...”

She nods and sits down beside him, kicking her heels back against the stage.

“I owe you an apology, don’t I?”

“Kind of.”

She considers that for a moment, then says, “I’m sorry I helped push you into this, but I’m not sorry that I’ll get to see you perform again. And I know how performing makes you feel, so I’m not sorry for that, either.”

“So basically...you’re sorry I’m being stubborn?”

The corners of her lips twitch, but she doesn’t actually smile. “No. You had your reasons for quitting, Kurt, and I can’t imagine how it felt to be told that time and time again. It’s—I understand giving up looking for the dream. Hell, I did that, too. Eventually you gotta face reality, you know? I understand that. But I still sing for people. You closed up this amazing part of you that made you really happy and I don’t understand _that_ part of it. But it’s your life and your decision and I didn’t think—I wasn’t thinking about how serious this is for you when I jumped in yesterday. I was thinking—”

“You were thinking about when you’re in school and your friend likes someone but doesn’t want to tell them, so you push them into it and there’s lots of giggling and lady chats. Or like what you did when Blaine first auditioned.”

“Pretty much.”

“This isn't like that, though,” he tells her quietly, and she nods and pulls him into a hug.

He lets her because she’s his best friend and he will forgive her, same as he knows he’ll forgive Tina and Mike. Hell, same as he knows he will forgive Blaine even, although that one may take longer, if only because Blaine has to get over the idea of himself as the white knight before Kurt can let this go. If there’s one thing Kurt has learned from spending so much time with this specific group of people, it is that he has a near infinite capacity to see the good in people and their intentions, and to forgive. He’s had to because as good as he knows each and every member of his cast and crew to be, every single one of them—himself included—can be absolutely horrid sometimes.

“I gotta go run though the choreography to Bye, Bye Enterprise again,” he tells Mercedes after a moment. “We can finish this conversation at home.”

She releases him with a soft kiss to his forehead and he laughs before hopping to his feet and joining Brittany on the far side of the stage.

***

When Kurt gets to the theatre the next morning, Blaine is waiting for him by the door with a cup of coffee held out in penance.

Kurt takes it, sniffing gingerly, and raises his eyebrows.

“You know my coffee order? We’ve gone out together _once_.”

“I have a good memory,” Blaine explains. “Comes in handy for memorizing scripts. Also, I just...pay a lot of attention to you.”

Kurt tries not to sigh in exasperation, but he doesn’t manage to keep it in very well.

“Look, I—you said you needed time and that’s fine,” Blaine says. “I screwed up and you have every right to be mad at me. But we have to work together. We have scenes together where you’re supposed to...you know...”

“Look up to you.”

“I was going to say not hate me, but...yes.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Well, it’s not coming across on stage, and the production is tomorrow night.”

“We’re ridiculous for thinking we can pull this off, aren’t we?” Kurt asks, trying to change the subject.

Blaine doesn’t let him. “Yes, and it’s going to be a disaster, but Finn tells me disasters kind of work for this crew so let’s go with it. Kurt, I just—I want to fix this between us but if we can’t, then please let’s fix it between us and the audience.”

“We’ll fix it,” Kurt says, shrugging. “Between us. I don’t hold grudges very well. Especially not against someone who is clearly sorry and wants to make it better.”

Blaine sighs with relief. “I do. I want to fix it so badly. Please tell me how.”

Kurt lets out a little laugh that he refuses to consider a snort. “I think the entire point is that you’re the one who has to figure that out, but...I don’t hate you, Blaine. I’m pissed off, but it’s one night and then it’ll be over, and once I’ve had a few days to deal with it, I’ll be fine. I think so, anyway. I constantly forgive Puck for, you know, everything that comes out of his mouth, so I’m pretty sure I can forgive you.”

Blaine nods. “Okay. I’ll—I’ll work on it. The whole...”

“Saving people thing.”

“Yeah. That.”

“Good.”

Kurt starts to head into the theatre and he hears Blaine following. After a moment, he glances over his shoulder and sees Blaine biting his lip to stop a grin.

“What?” he asks finally.

“I realize this may make you angrier,” Blaine says slowly, but then he can’t seem to hold back anymore and he beams at Kurt, “but I really can’t wait to hear you sing.”

It does annoy him, but not much. “Vocal fetishist,” he grumbles, and Blaine makes no argument.

***

The first half of the morning is yet another run through of the choreography, which Kurt manages to master by noon since Wesley isn’t in that many numbers, while Finn runs through Worf’s songs. Worf fits him better, Kurt thinks, as he listens to the emotion Finn puts into the character as he sings, and then it’s his turn.

“Okay, Kurt,” Schuester says, “this is the scene where The Traveler comes to take you away and you resign your commission. You’re basically leaving these people forever.” He lowers his voice and then adds, “Aside from that weird appearance in _Nemesis_ but no one can really figure out what the hell that canon is supposed to be so we’ll just ignore that for now.”

Kurt snorts until he hears the opening strains of the song start to play, and then all he can see is Blaine sitting in the front row, chin in his hands.

 _My mother, she is crying  
What more is there to say?  
She feels like I am dying  
Not just going away._

He sees Mercedes nodding her encouragement and he swallows before continuing.

 _This ship has been my home;  
Her crew my family.  
No matter where I roam  
I love her dearly._

He inhales sharply and forces his voice to release the power he knows he has.

 _Bye-bye, Enterprise.  
Goodbye, my friends.  
Bye-bye, Enterprise  
For though this is my journey’s end  
Bye-bye, Enterprise  
May we some day meet again._

He glances down into the audience in the quiet pause before he starts the second verse and feels like he’s being punched in the chest. Not a single person in the audience—and the entire crew is there, plus half the cast—is looking at him the way casting directors used to, even before that awful day. Most of them look impressed and one or two actually look jealous. And Blaine—well, Blaine’s looking at Kurt like he can’t believe he gets to be in the same room as him. It’s the look he’s seen on couples around the city, when they’re staring into each other’s eyes like no one else exists in the world. It’s ridiculous and terrifying and they’ve only known each other for a week but Kurt thinks he could get used to having that look directed at him. In fact, he’s pretty damn sure he could grow to _love_ that look.

He finishes the rest of the song much stronger than he started it and flushes when a few of his friends applaud lightly. Blaine doesn’t clap, he notices, but only because his mouth is hanging slightly agape and he doesn’t quite seem to remember how to move.

“I think you killed him,” Mercedes whispers in his ear as he steps off the stage to allow Finn to rehearse one of his new scenes, and she nudges him in Blaine’s direction as he heads into the audience to find a seat.

Kurt considers not going to him, but Blaine looks so eager and Kurt has always found it hard to hold a grudge in the face of such open admiration.

“That was—” Blaine starts, then shakes his head. “Angel. You have the voice of—oh my God, Kurt.”

“You’re rambling,” Kurt says quietly, and flicks his eyes around to check if anyone is paying attention to them. They are, but there’s nothing much he can do about it, so.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says, without sounding sorry at all. “I just—I don’t have that thing. The filter that keeps people from saying—when I like something, I can’t— _wow_ Kurt, that was _amazing_. _You_ are amazing, actually, and I know you’re mad at me but I am so glad I got to see you do that, so—”

“Blaine, stop talking.”

Blaine stops.

“You—you really can’t control yourself, can you?” Kurt observes idly. “Like...there is nothing in your brain that says maybe it’s not a good idea to look at me the way you are right now.”

“No,” Blaine answers honestly. “Sometimes it takes me awhile to realize that I like something, but once I know, I—I can’t not talk about it. And show it. And talk about it some more.”

“You’re making it _really_ hard for me to stay mad at you over something that, by the way, was a _huge fucking deal_.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says, abashed. “I can try to—”

Kurt sighs. “No, it’s—I think I prefer this.”

“What? Me being so besotted over you that I’ll happily follow you around like a lost puppy dog instead of trying to act like I actually—”

“Have your shit together? Yes. Besotted puppy dogs don’t try to white knight me.”

“Would you find it charming or disturbing if I tried to make a sexy _woof_ sound right now?”

“Disturbing. But also kind of endearing. It’s hard not to like someone who’s obviously trying so hard.”

Blaine grins. “I swear I’m not always this bad. Just...your _voice_. Give me like, a few hours to get over it and I’ll try to back off a little.”

“You are coming on a little strong,” Kurt says agreeably, “but I’m told I do that, too, so let’s call it even.”

“Does that mean we’re back on for that dinner date at my place?”

“Let’s just...get through the performance tomorrow and see, okay? Singing in front of you guys was big, but it’s not—that audience tomorrow doesn’t already love me.”

“They will by the time you’re finished,” Blaine says firmly, like it’s not even a question, it’s just _fact_.

“We’ll see,” Kurt says idly, and then, “Come on. Let’s go run the lines for that scene between Riker and Wesley. I think I can do it now without the whole...” he waves a hand, and Blaine nods.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

***

He’s dragging his feet when he gets to the theatre the next morning, having stayed up late to run through all his lines with first Blaine and then later Mercedes until he had them down pat. He spent his morning shower singing his solo and his lines in group numbers, and blasted the demos Schuester gave him on his iPod during his commute. He has done absolutely everything he can do to possibly pull this off in time, knowing that he’s woefully under prepared, because at least it has kept him from thinking about the audience he has to impress.

“You look sick, man,” Finn says when Kurt arrives in the hair and make up room to find Finn already there. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kurt answers, and flinches away from his reflection in the mirror. He looks even more pale than usual and he has bags under his eyes. This is horrifying.

“Sit,” Quinn says firmly, and attacks his face with powder and creams. “Schuester wants you ready for a dress rehearsal at noon.”

Kurt sits and twists his hands together, silently mouthing the words for his final goodbye.

“Dude, relax,” Finn cajoles. “It’ll be _fine_. We’re best when we’re loose.”

“You mean we’re terrible, so the only time we’re actually good is happy accident caused by under-preparedness?”

Finn blinks. “Um, sure?”

Kurt sighs and goes back to mouthing his lines. It’s a nice distraction for when Santana starts yanking on his hair, anyway.

***

Dress rehearsal is...rough. That’s about the kindest way Kurt can think of to categorize it, because it’s shockingly clear that Finn fits better into Worf’s skin than he ever did into Wesley’s, and in a lot of ways, the whole show is starting to gel. But while the acting may be better, there are still the forgotten lines to deal with (mostly between himself and Finn, but other members of the cast flub up, too), missteps during choreography (that one is almost entirely Finn), and Kurt forgets half of the second verse of Bye Bye, Enterprise and has to make up a new verse on the fly. Finn can claim that they’re best when they’re loose all he wants but Kurt is absolutely _terrified_ of that happening on stage that night, of not being able to think fast enough to come up with a new verse, because he’s not sure he can pull it off in front of a proper audience.

No one else seems to notice that, though, as they all congratulate each other excitedly and head off to prepare for the performance that night.

“Mercedes,” he says, pleading for reality, “that was a mess, right?”

“A hot damn one,” she confirms, “but it...was kind of good, too. It had a lot of heart.”

“Heart does not equal actually being good,” Kurt feels compelled to point out.

She shrugs. “I liked it. It had charm.”

Kurt groans. “No one around here has _standards_ , do they?”

“Not really.”

“Whatever.” Kurt rolls his eyes. “I’m going to go change out of this horrid sweater and go find some lunch. Care to join me?”

She turns him around gently and nudges him towards where Blaine is watching them hopefully.

“Actually,” Blaine says, “I had some leftovers last night so I thought maybe—”

“I thought we agreed you’d cool it on the cooking for me thing until after tonight.”

“I didn’t. Leftovers. Promise. And no...heat. Just lunch and hopefully meaningful conversation number three.”

“I sincerely dislike you both,” Kurt says, because he refuses to believe that Mercedes just magically figured out that Blaine wanted to have lunch with him all on her own. But he takes Blaine’s proffered hand and follows him to an empty room backstage, then waits there patiently until Blaine returns a few minutes later with the food.

“So,” Blaine says as he settles down on the floor across from Kurt, plate of food in his lap. “I wanted to apologize again for trying to white knight you. You don’t need that, and I’m sorry for thinking you did.”

“I know you’re sorry, Blaine. I believe you. And you’ve told me this over and over again.”

“Right, but I haven’t told you why I did it.”

“Because you wanted to hear me sing.”

“No, I mean, why I wanted to be your—”

“Hero.”

Blaine nods. “I told you about having a boyfriend in high school, right?” Kurt tilts his head in agreement. “Well...I mean, I was already a target before he and I started dating—we both were—but it only got worse for both of us once we started seeing each other. And it’s not even like we were trying to ‘rub people’s faces in it’ or whatever it is that they say we do. We held hands in the hallway, same as anyone else, only...”

“No one else thought it was the same.”

Blaine nods. “Anyway, there was a school dance and he and I both talked about it until we were blue in the face, arguing over whether or not we should go. He wanted to and I didn’t. But I finally agreed because I didn’t think it was right to let them scare me into staying home. So we went, and actually, we had a pretty nice time. People shot us some dirty looks, but I had a few friends from drama club who hung out with us that night even though they hadn't ever seen us together before, but they still treated us like they did everyone else and it was just so _nice_ to have people be _nice_ to us.”

Kurt sighs on Blaine’s behalf because he knows the feeling and he hates it, because since when is basic human courtesy a _privilege_ , but he’s gotten far too pragmatic in the last few years to expect otherwise.

“But afterwards, we were waiting for his dad to pick us up and a bunch of lacrosse players came out and—” He sort of trails off, then shrugs like it’s no big deal, even when it so very obviously is. “I’m kind of on the short side,” Blaine continues after a moment, “and even if I weren’t, and could physically match those guys, there were just too many of them. For some reason, they were worse on him than they were me and for a long time I felt guilty that they didn’t beat the crap out of me as badly as they did him. Which I know, is fucked up. There’s a point to this, I swear.”

“Point?” Kurt asks, because what on earth is Blaine even talking about?

“About the white knight. I’m telling you this so I can explain that.”

“Blaine, you really don’t have to—”

“No, I want you to know. So...anyway. I had to go to the E.R., but they released me that night. He was in the hospital for more than a week because they ruptured his spleen.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I just...look, I admit this is fucked up and tied into masculinity issues, but...I really did care about him and I thought, ‘What kind of person am I if I can’t even protect him from something this horrible? What kind of _man_ am I?’ because he was broken for a really long time and I somehow, miraculously, wasn’t. Not even as bad mentally as he was. And I hated myself for not fighting back hard enough, for not being able to get him to safety, for being back at school on Monday when he was still lying in that bed.”

“You went _back_?”

“At first. You’d think that would’ve been the thing that broken me, but it wasn’t. It was the fact that it never _stopped_. Being shoved into lockers daily, being called names, all of it. It just...kept going. And one day I decided I was tired and I couldn’t fight anymore and I transferred to private school. They had a no-tolerance policy against bullying and everyone there was incredibly nice. And then I came straight here after graduation and...I mean, New York isn’t perfect. I don’t think anywhere is. But when I was at that school and now here, it’s been...way too easy for me to forget how hard it is when you’re the one being called names every single day. And I fall back into that need to have protected him. And I’m sorry, Kurt. I really am because you don’t need me to protect you or to force you to fight, especially since I sometimes forget how hard it can be. I’m ashamed to say this, but it wasn’t until I heard you sing that I actually believed you didn’t need a white knight.”

Kurt clears his throat and stares down at his knees. “Blaine,” he sighs out on an exhale, and shakes his head.

“Kurt,” Blaine answers back.

“Okay. It’s—it’s _not_ okay, but—okay.”

“I really like you,” Blaine says quietly. “And I just...it’s my fault.”

“No. It’s really not.”

Blaine stays silent, but reaches over to take Kurt’s hand. Kurt lets him.

“This count as the third?”

Kurt lets out a laugh, just a little wet-sounding, and nods.

“Yes. You’ve got five more before I let you—”

He stops and flushes, but Blaine just grins at him.

“Kurt Hummel, I didn’t think you were that sort of boy.”

“I _am_ that sort of boy,” Kurt says once he finds his voice. “When I want to be, anyway.”

Blaine doesn’t ask the obvious question—”And you want to be that sort of boy with me?” because they both already know the answer, but he does lean forward hesitantly and brush their lips together.

“I’m sorry,” he says almost instantly. “I know you said not until after the performance and you’d had time to—”

“It’s okay,” Kurt interrupts. “Just...look, I’m probably going to ask you out tomorrow once I’m over the shock of tonight, but until then...I understand why you did it, but I still need time to stop hating the fact that I have to go through with this.”

“You keep saying that,” Blaine says softly.

“You keep doing things that require me to repeat it,” Kurt answers back.

“Sorry,” Blaine answers, shrugging, and presses his lips to Kurt’s knuckles. “You’re going to do great tonight, Kurt.”

The look on his face is so eager and honest and he so clearly believes every word that he’s saying that Kurt can’t stop himself from taking both sides of Blaine’s face in his hands and kissing him again.

“Okay,” he says, and then again, “Okay. That was the last one. No more of this.”

“Okay,” Blaine says quietly, like he doesn’t dare to so much as breathe in this moment.

“Damn it,” Kurt says, and forces himself to let go of Blaine and get to his feet. “We are going to go out there now and rehearse some more. You haven’t had much longer than I have to learn this stuff, anyway. We are not going to stay in here making out. Understood?”

“Yes,” Blaine answers, and stands up.

They stare at each other for a moment, then Kurt shakes his head, mutters, “Damn it,” again, and wrenches the door open to keep his body from acting on what the rest of him is still torn about wanting. He’s grinning, though, so hard that it starts to hurt, and he doesn’t stop until he gets to the stage and finds Finn tripping over his own shadow. The reality of just how bad tonight’s performance is going to be crashes in on him and he wills himself and the rest of the cast to shine just this once.

***

Backstage is chaos. Between Finn running around in his underwear because he can’t find his costume, Puck accidentally setting off the first round of pyrotechnics, Lauren looking like she wants to punch Sam in the face for the fact that he still hasn’t perfected how to fake doing the same, and Kurt simultaneously trying to shove Finn into a chair to get Worf’s prosthetic applied while simultaneously fighting off Santana’s efforts to wrangle him into her station so she can fix his hair, the entire backstage area feels less like a theatre and more or less like a zoo.

Kurt wonders, at first, why everyone is panicking. He knows why _he_ is, but as far as he knows, Brittany has no issues with performing and he knows for a fact that Rachel doesn’t. But then he remembers that this is their last shot—if someone doesn’t want to invest more money into taking the show out of workshop and into actual performances, then it’s over. A lump rises in his throat and he forces it back down because he refuses to be parted from these people. He’s not sure he wants to fight like Blaine said, for himself, but he can’t imagine not fighting for _them_.

It’s Mike, in the end, who actually makes him feel better, by patting him on the back and crouching down beside him. He looks calm and relaxed, just watching the disaster around him with mild disinterest.

“Hey, buddy.”

Kurt glances over at him and hugs his knees tighter to his chest. “Hi.”

“So..." Mike pauses, like he's not sure that he should say what he so clearly wants to, then plows onward. "I’m not really sure why you got pissed at Blaine, but I’m glad you’re not holding it against him.”

Of all the things that Kurt expected to come out of Mike's mouth, that's pretty much last on the list.

“What?”

“I don’t know." Mike shrugs, casual and easygoing. "I watch people a lot. It’s what happens when you don’t talk very often. You notice more. And I watch you a lot because you’re one of my closest friends.” Kurt smiles without meaning to and Mike grins back at him before continuing. “So...I mean, it was never that you were unhappy before, or anything...you’ve just kind of always been in this middle ground, you know? You weren’t completely miserable, but it wasn’t...the _light_ wasn’t in your eyes. And then Blaine walked onto this stage and it was like...a little bit of the light came back. And I thought that was it until you got up there and started singing and—”

He trails off, biting his lip, and then shrugs again before continuing.

“Look, I don’t know the details, but I gather that you quit performing for a reason. And maybe you don’t want to hear this right now, but when you started singing...I thought Blaine had made you brighter until I saw you perform. It was like _staring into the sun_. You came to life up there.”

“You—”

“No, I mean it. It was incredible.”

“I used to love it,” Kurt says quietly.

“I think you still do. I mean...look, I will totally support you no matter what but I really hope you keep going after tonight. You lit up too brightly not to.”

“Mike Chang, why do you make it so hard for me to stay angry and bitter and cynical?”

“Because my girlfriend is a goth and that is why she and I work so well together. Someone has to be the sunshine in the relationship.”

Kurt snorts. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Mike answers. “Just...look, whatever it was that made you stop...don’t go out there tonight to prove them wrong. Don’t—don’t let this be about spite or fighting or—or whatever it was. Make this about you and about how much you obviously love doing this.”

“Okay, seriously,” Kurt says, “go away now before I ask you to be my life coach or something.”

Mike squeezes his shoulder and gets to his feet just as Schuester comes running in, calling them all in for one last pre-show huddle. Kurt gets caught somewhere in the middle with Rachel on one side and Mike on the other, staring across the circle at Blaine. Blaine gives him a small smile and Kurt tries not to think about how good Blaine’s lips felt against his. And then suddenly everything is happening too fast, because their hands are all in the middle, stacked into a hasty pile, and Rachel is trying to infuse the entire group with enthusiasm to varying degrees of success. They raise their hands into the air and then the crew hurries backstage while Kurt joins his cast mates in scurrying into place onstage.

***

By the time the curtain lowers two and a half hours later, Kurt is beaming triumphantly despite Rachel’s immediate panic over whether it was good enough. This panic, incidentally, involves critiquing everyone's performance except her own.

Honestly, it wasn’t perfect. Finn tripped during the Bat’leth Boogie, just as they all knew he would, Mike’s fencing sword flew out of his hand during Sulu’s big dance solo and hit Rachel in the nose, and Kurt heard his own voice quiver when he stretched for the high note at the end of his solo. It was great at best, but not extraordinary, and he honestly doesn’t know if they’ll get the funding they need to keep the show open.

But he felt _alive_ on that stage, and satisfied in a way that he’d forgotten how to feel because character designing doesn’t even come close. He feels like hugging each and every single person in the entire cast and crew, including Mr. Figgins and, even, Santana Lopez. He’s fairly sure that he’s on some kind of stage high and that’s probably why, when Blaine taps him on the shoulder, Kurt spins around and kisses him right then and there.

“Oh,” Blaine says, surprised, but he’s grinning.

“Never, ever, _ever_ do that to me again,” Kurt tells him. “If Mike hadn’t talked to me before I went on stage, that would’ve been scarring."

“I won’t,” Blaine says earnestly. “Never ever.”

“Okay, then,” Kurt says decisively, and slips his hand into Blaine’s. “You can start planning meaningful conversation number four, then.”

Blaine laughs but the sound gets cut off by Schuester running in holding a slip of paper in his hand.

“We got it,” he says, beaming at them all fiercely. “It’s not enough to premier yet, but it’ll get us through previews. We’ve just got to make sure every show from here on out gets even better. You guys were amazing and some of you only had three days to pull that together. Let’s see what you can do with proper rehearsals.” He catches Kurt’s eye and asks, “Are you in? Or do I have to find a third Wesley Crusher?”

Kurt takes all of ten seconds to think about it, but he’s known the answer since he belted out the first note of his solo tonight.

“I’m in,” he says, and Blaine looks up at him with that same look of open admiration he had the first time he heard Kurt sing. Kurt squeezes his hand back tightly in the three seconds it takes before the entire cast and crew is crushing in on the two of them, and then Kurt just lets himself be swept away on their glee.

* * *

 _I have found that I can tolerate being judged far better than being of no consequence._ \- Mr. Spock, "[World Enough and Time](http://www.startreknewvoyages.com/episode_weat.html)"

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write long author's notes, and this will be no different, but I do have a few things I want to say.
> 
> First off, if you haven't checked out queenofgoat's fanmix for this, [GO DO IT RIGHT THIS SECOND](http://queenofgoat.livejournal.com/1015.html). If you follow me on Tumblr or Twitter, then you saw me _freaking out_ over how good it is and I really haven't stopped since the day I received it.
> 
> But let's talk about the fic itself. Because I kind of feel like I have to justify its existence.
> 
> It started when Chris Colfer twittered his love of the network formerly known as Sci-Fi's "Face Off." For those unaware, it's a reality show in which aspiring special makeup effects artists compete against each other in weekly challenges. The first season of it was amazing.
> 
> From there, my brain decided that clearly this called for an AU in which Kurt was a special make up effects artist, and I wanted to set it on Broadway instead of a movie set, which lead me to ponder what on earth kind of musical would require that much special effects makeup? Combine that with my recent mainlining of every Star Trek series I could get my hands on, both official and unofficial, and somehow my brain went, "SINGING AND DANCING KLINGONS!"
> 
> And thus, a Big Bang fic was born.
> 
> And then a funny thing happened as I was writing it. For a long time, I couldn't figure out _why_ I was so sure that Kurt would be a special makeup effects artist if he couldn't be a performer, and then a re-watch of Glee season 1 later, I landed on, "Makeovers are like crack to me," and the way he treated Finn and realized that of course this would be Kurt's backup career. Throw in a re-watch of "World Enough and Time" and I hit the quote that shaped not only this fic, but also my entire perception of Kurt's character in canon--"I have found that I can tolerate being judged far better than being of no consequence." Despite the fact that Kurt and Spock couldn't be any more different if they tried, the quote rang true to the Kurt in my head perfectly.
> 
> I would like to formally and sincerely apologize for my abhorrent songwriting skills in part two; Darren Criss I am not, although I am kind of absurdly pleased that I worked in a reference to the title of Wesley's departure episode. I take my giggles where I can get them, folks.
> 
> I hope this fic was comprehensible to people who aren't familiar with Star Trek, as well as having some reference snickers for those who are. And hopefully I wasn't too heavy-handed with the Glee meta. My AUs tend to have that.
> 
> I hope it was enjoyable, or at the very least didn't make anyone want to run away at the thought of Worf doing the Bat'leth Boogie. You're a star if you made it through all of this ridiculousness, and I sincerely thank you for it.
> 
> P.S. The title of this fic came from a Captain Picard quote in 5x25, "The Inner Light." As Kamin, Picard tells his "daughter": _"Seize the time, Meribor. Live now! Make now always the most precious time. Now will never come again."_ It seemed fitting.


End file.
